Misunderestimation

Gerard’s POV

I am currently waiting by the bleachers. Waiting… waiting. For Him.
I bet he won’t turn up. I take out a cigarette, take a long drag and let the smoke out the corner of my mouth slowly. I wonder if he smokes…

Frank’s POV

I squirm as I am pinned to my locker by some unidentifiable ignoramus jock that has really bad breath. He breathes right close to my face, similar to a bull, except without the cool nose ring. He whispers “Don’t EVER hit on my girlfriend again fag. She is MY property, okay fag? I OWN her. Oh, and by the way, your art class partner is a FAG. Enjoy your faggot games with him. FAG! ”
I never realised one person could say the word “fag” in one conversation so many times.
But, regardless of my sarcastic thoughts, I am scared shitless.
I noticed this girl in the back of my English class, she didn’t have anyone to sit next to, so I thought, okay, lets try something new, lets just talk to someone, just this once. You never know, it might turn out okay.
But how was I to know.
How was I to know, jocks ALWAYS arrive late for class. ALWAYS. And they are extremely territorial.
Let’s just say, I didn’t just get thrown onto the lockers. I was in them. For the whole of second and third period.
I don’t really have time to build up frustration now, I have a date, whoops, I mean a meeting with Gerard, and he’s probably left already. I am so late!
I have no idea what is going to happen, but the butterflies in my stomach seem to be having a nuclear war.
I take a deep breath, and take a step down the stairs toward the football ground, and the bleachers. There seemed to be some kind of football-hockey-lacrosse practise on, so I had to sneak my way around, so not to be seen. Kind of hard when I have pink hair though.
I see a dark figure with a cloud of smoke around him. Gerard?
Frank, you actually need to say it out loud for him to hear it…
“Gerard? Is that you?”
I got closer.
He turned around, and there he was. I stood and stared for a few seconds, before I caught myself and stopped immediately.
“Hey. Wanna drag?” He handed me his cigarette.
“Thanks… Oh man, I haven’t had one of these in a million years…” I reply, taking a deep breath of the cancerous stick and hand it back to him.
“Oh, you have no idea how good that feels…” I say, in absolute bliss.
He laughs. Good laugh? Bad laugh? Good laugh. Phew.
I can feel my hands, they’re all clammy, and so I wipe them on my jeans.
“So…” I begin, before he butts in with;
“About yesterday, it was just me drawing you, I think you have really good facial features, they’re perfectly balanced, like perfect, so I really wanted to capture this on paper, and so I did, and when you saw it and gasped I ran because I thought you’d freak and the whole class would know im some creepy fag-boy—“
With that I crashed my lips onto his; tasting the same smoke I just inhaled earlier.
There is no tongue, only caressing of each others lips. I wanted to show him how I felt.
After what seemed like only a few seconds I pulled out, opened my eyes, and looked into his. I think he got my message.
“Um, thanks…” He mumbles.
“No problem.” I say. Wow, for once I feel confident, sure of myself.
It feels good. “He leans forward and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. I feel a shudder down my spine as he grabs my hand and we start walking.

To where?

I don’t know.